Sketch - Lament

O, would that finite tears could push back time a day,
and that one-hundred years of toil could one darker year repay,
perhaps if these things did suffice, atoned for grit and grime
upon encrusted brows that, etched with pain, learn, with time,
to sing again, renewed and greater,
they might ruin design so intricate
that none would, even could, perhaps
find valor in a hypocrite.